


Trauma

by Bejerwin



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, I don't really know okay, i am a bad judge at what to tag things, old work from an old place that got too dusty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-27
Updated: 2014-01-27
Packaged: 2018-01-10 07:12:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1156645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bejerwin/pseuds/Bejerwin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The eldest of  all the living nations. China is but the only one who’s seen everyone else die, leaving him to be the last of the ancients. So of course he has grown sentimental. Then again, he’s always been that way.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trauma

**Author's Note:**

> I failed to do any research on the history I hint at before hand...oops. 
> 
> Uh. 
> 
> This was a tester thing.

            Sitting on the edge of his bed, China held his head in his hands, his elbows digging deep into his knees. The voices in his ears were many. There was no way they would stop unless he took his special herbal tea. But today was the day he let himself suffer.

            Every few days China would get migraines, extreme joint pains and he would hear voices from the past. To get rid of it, he concocted his own special tea that he took whenever the pains struck him. But to make sure he never forgot his past, he allowed one day out of the month to live with his insanity episodes. It was his way of staying awake to the world he lived in. He didn’t want any chance of making the same mistakes as when he was much younger.

            “Ugh,” the Chinese man grumbled and then cursed in his native tongue. His eyes clenched to endure a harsh wave of pain in his head. “Ow. Ow. Ow.”

            China opened his eyes and met the mirror of his dresser. His reflection was the spitting image of his angry, just woken up self after just moments of shut eye after a long day. He raked a hand through his long hair which was missing it’s pony tail.

            The room was kept clean and full of the years he’s been a nation. The first chopsticks he used were tucked away into a neat little wooden box decorated with a simplistic floral design. The first flower of his first spring was dried and flattened next to the first flower he received from Rome (He thought China was a girl then) in a frame. The frame was aligned with the chopstick box and other frames of special pictures.  All his little trinkets of history were neatly placed on a flat surface throughout his house. Only the most important and special ones were kept in his room. His head was hurting terribly now but he kept his eyes up. Then finally afraid he’d give in to himself, he brought his head up and pushed off the bed. He grabbed onto the ledge of his dresser and made his way to the desk in the far corner of his bedroom. He pulled one out the bottom drawers and pulled out a fat bundle of photos.

            He leaned his weight on the desk and strained to keep his sanity. The voices were much louder now. He could hear the voice of Rome, his battle cry, Germania dealing his blow to Rome. There was clashing of metal in his brain, war was sounding in his ears. He heard the sounds of his brother’s people in pain. The end coming to the Japanese, the sounds of all the humans from every war he was present for, and the ones he was just alive to see.

            Then when he thought the worst of the voices were over, he heard himself scream. The sounds of the time Japan had left him, when he had gave him the scar on his back. His screaming from back then in his ears. He grunted and filed through the photos looking for a happy memory.

            His knees were aching and threatened to give way from his weight. So he sat himself at his desk chair and shuffled through the pictures.

            He stopped on the photo of him hugging his family tightly. It was after all the wars had ended and some time had passed that all his siblings were willing to see one another in a family reunion. Though a certain pair of brothers didn’t acknowledge each other, it was still a step to total family happiness. Though that dream was far from attainability. Their bosses may be hateful of the other, they may be enemies, but as a living, breathing ‘human’ shaped figures, they were all family.

            China leafed further into the fat stack and slowed on a few pictures of his time allied with certain countries. They were angry in the photos, but it was playful anger. There were also pictures of his special alone time with his closest family members. There was a few drawing of him and Japan, Hong Kong and himself, so on, so on.

            The voices subsided to nothing but the pains remained. He sighed as he could hear the nothingness that was his home once again. Silent. Not a sound made by a human other than his own breathing, the fountain in his garden and the birds that seemed to be singing to him.

            China found old sketches and paintings done by South Korea and Japan mixed into the pile of papers. He separated them and moved to his bed to lie down and look through the pictures. Whatever pressure he applied to his joints earlier to walk to his bed was soon relieved when he lay on his stomach. He smiled through the pain as he saw the improved version of Japan’s rabbit. The characters Japan created where translated in his own language next to it just to please him. China read the words aloud.

            “I thank you for taking care of me this many years. Japan.” The old nation bit his lip as a wave of pain washed over him suddenly and then vanished as soon as it came. “I hope he’s doing well. I never do talk to him outside world meeting anymore. Maybe I should…”

            China moved to another drawing, this time by South Korea. It was a portrait of the ‘family’ he grew up with. But the only one easily recognizable was Korea himself, the rest of his siblings were drawn tiny in the corner next to his giant artist signature. Their names were pointed out on the sides to distinguish them.

            “Oh, that boy,” China chuckled to himself lightly. The pain was slowly leaving his head. “Hope he’s doing well as well. Maybe he could join us in a…”

            There was one last bunch of pictures he had in his hand. The pictures were drawn version of all the Asian family members in their most hilarious states. Each nation had their own card. It was given to him on his birthday by Taiwan who had everyone drawn in caricatures. Japan’s lifeless eyes were enlarged to extreme proportions but still kept his cute, small face. South Korea’s mouth was drawn large and smiling, his eyes just slits and barely visible. Taiwan was lost in her hair and China was drawn very feminine, his eyes very pointy and elegant compared to his body.

            Everyone was very distinct and he flipped the backs of the cards for the first time. On the back of Vietnam’s card (she was the last in the deck) was a word, ‘ ** _again’_**. He flipped them all over and rearranged them to see the message he had never seen before. Some cards had more than one word.

            The cards said, _One day we will be a family again. Thank you big brother!_

            China stared at the message and let his jaw sag from his face. The pain his body was enduring was ignored and was no longer being registered as he read and reread the words.

            “Big brother…” he uttered to himself. The message was in the languages of their family, but he could read it all. Fluently and with much ease to his surprise. He was never called big brother by his family, and it was his little wish he never admitted to himself. He was addressed in the languages of his family as his most wished title. “Big brother…” Was the words he mumbled again.

            The elder brother of the Asians hurriedly got up with the cards. China found space on his wall to hand up the message. He wanted it to be wear he would wake up to see it, though. So he found some tape in his desk drawer and taped the pieces of paper neatly on his dresser mirror.

When he got up in the morning, he’d be able to see the message every time. China was smiling the whole time, broadly this time, and felt the muscles in his face strain. It must have been awhile since he truly smiled. He only noticed when he looked at his new pieces of work on his mirror and saw his reflection in the mirror.

            “How long?” He asked no one. “How long has it been since we’ve all sat together for a good family dinner?” China frowned then, thinking about how long ago it had been.

            He pulled a tight lipped smile and turned around to the phone on his bed side table. He took the phone in his thin hands and dialed number by number. Greeting and asking the exact same question.

            “Nihao, it’s been awhile. Would you like to come for dinner tonight?”

**Author's Note:**

> This is something I wrote almost a whole year ago. And I am moving it here because I found this place. 
> 
> This is my first time actually using Archive soo... 
> 
> Trying it out with something old before anything else.


End file.
